


Misery's the River of the World

by boxofhatebrains



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Major Illness, Not Beta Read, Realism, bad guys being normal people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29347062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofhatebrains/pseuds/boxofhatebrains
Summary: Sometimes, when all is said and done, when the battle is over and life continues on, time can change people. It has for Schuldig and Crawford.
Relationships: Brad Crawford/Schuldig
Kudos: 4





	Misery's the River of the World

"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't smoke in here," a perky, short-haired nurse politely approached him.  
  
He looked at her, swept her briefly, not in interest anymore, but just out of habit; a reflex that couldn't be unlearned.   
  
Quietly, he smiled, but made that switch in her. He was going to fucking smoke if he wanted to. In her head, as simple as a wheel being turned, he shut it off.  
  
Without a word, her eyes focused past him, and she walked away.  
  
A few years ago, he would have played, would have blown the smoke in her face and made her laugh, would have made her join him...but that was the past.  
  
Schuldig walked into the hospital room, nonchalantly threw the flowers he had brought on the bed, and pulled up a chair.  
  
"You bought me flowers?" Brad's voice had undertones of amusement, then more quietly, he began to ask, "Are they from-"  
  
"No," Schuldig cut him off, easing out a long drag from his cigarette, "Just saw them on the way here. I thought I'd be nice for once."  
  
They both laughed at his joke, then the mirth faded into an uncertain silence.  
  
"What do the docs say?" Schuldig asked in English, leaning back, with seriousness, but his tone feigned apathy.  
  
"Why not just look in?" Brad softly replied, softer than he usually sounded.  
  
A grimace paused on Schuldig's face before he blew it away with the smoke in his lungs. This was wearing them down, both of them, but neither would show the full extent. The answer was because he wanted to _hear _it, wanted to hear the words tumble out of Crawford's mouth. Then maybe he'd believe it.  
  
After a moment of thought, Brad explained, "It's getting larger...Like they feared, it's getting larger."  
  
"Ja?" he pushed out, took another slow breath from his cigarette, flicked the ashes into a cup, not looking at his friend's face, "So what are they going to do?"  
  
"They're thinking...," he paused, fishing for the right words, "They don't have many options..."  
  
Schuldig nodded, but didn't understand, didn't want to understand. He thought about asking what his chances were, or how long did they still have, but his mouth just gently nipped at the cigarette.  
  
"Don't let it worry you," Brad spoke as he plucked the leaves from the flower-stems, then giving a weak, impish grin, "Not that it would."  
  
Schuldig forced a laugh and retorted, "I'm not. I'm just waiting for you to kick off so I can have your giant flat screen t.v."  
  
They laughed again, comforting the other...comforting themselves.  
  
\---  
  
The next time Schuldig came, he brought chocolate doughnuts. Brad laughed and asked if Schuldig was gathering up the courage to ask him out. They clung to the humor that they were slowly becoming accustomed to as time went on.  
  
"How's Farfello?" Brad questioned, as he broke his doughnut into bite-sized pieces.  
  
"Oh, boy, that one," Schuldig sighed, lighting up another cigarette, "Everyone wants a piece of him. Japan wants to have him for about twenty murders that they can link to him; D.N.A. and bullshit like that. The U.S. wants him for sixteen murders, plus a few mutilations. France seems to think he went on a killing spree back ten years ago. And Ireland wants him for all of the above, plus more.  
  
"It's a mess, a real mess," he paused to suck in a quick puff, then let it out slowly, "But the legal system, especially since every one wants him, is slow, so he could still be alive for the next twenty years or so. Unless someone doesn't take him out first."  
  
"Estet?" Brad allowed concern to stretch his face.  
  
"No, silly," Schuldig waved his cigarette at his friend in a mock scolding gesture, "Estet is dead. Wiped from the Earth by god-knows-who. But it's gone, we can celebrate...  
  
"No, what I mean is that the last time I saw him, about a month ago, he had cut and bruises, maybe a concussion. The guards there don't seem to like him very much. Don't even bother with bandaging him. Wouldn't that be funny? If he died from an infection? That'd be hysterical."  
  
But he didn't laugh as he murmured the words into the cigarette, they both didn't grin or chuckle. They thought. They wondered when it will be the last time they would ever see Farfello again, alive. It wasn't that they liked or disliked him. It was that he was part of them and their history. He was something comfortable and familiar, no matter how maniacal.  
  
"How's Nagi?" Crawford changed the subject. It was a good subject, safe and happy. Something they could both rely on.  
  
"Good, he likes college," he replied, smiling softly, "He's a smart kid. Majoring in physics of all things. He's getting on fine...Doesn't have a girlfriend yet. I told him he's going to die a virgin if he doesn't find himself a life. College is supposed to be fun, too...but he's all about the work."  
  
Brad nodded and they enjoy the warmth. One of them made it out of the darkness and horror in one piece. One of them was living a normal life and they were just happy sucking on his news of accomplishment.  
  
"He's a good kid," Brad nodded and spoke in English. He waited for the right time, for the warmth to cool.  
  
"They're going to try radiation."  
  
"Oh," Schuldig raised his eyebrows and glanced at his hands, "Is that going to make you better?"  
  
"That's the hope."  
  
"Good...Is there...Are there any, you know?"  
  
"Well," Crawford rubbed his head absently, "I'm not out of the woods."  
  
"Yet," Schuldig corrected him.  
  
Crawford kept rubbing, his face grower paler, "Yes, yet."  
  
"Do you want me to help?" Schuldig asked, finally looking Crawford in the eyes, pointing the filter of the cigarette against his head.  
  
"No," Crawford responded, crisply, _quickly_ , "I just need more medicine, it's about that time. I'm tired, too. Not a lot of sleep...I keep seeing...things. Maybe it's best if you left for today."  
  
Schuldig agreed, smashing the cigarette out.   
  
He stood, wrapping his coat around him; he hated goodbyes, like this, wondering if something was coming and Crawford just wasn't telling him...But he had the option, he could look inside and know for himself...but he just didn't. He didn't want to know, really. Wouldn't know what to do with that kind of information.  
  
"I'll get you the nurse. I'll stop by either tomorrow or Tuesday."  
  
"Doing something tomorrow?" Crawford wondered aloud.  
  
"Well," he replied awkwardly, "Nothing really, just some errands. I'll see you, Brad."  
  
He didn't turn back...  
  
\---  
  
He knew something was wrong when he stepped in, his senses just told him, seeped something foreboding into his skin. The hairs on his neck stood before the nurse even walked slowly towards him with a frown.  
  
"What?" he snapped as she stopped in front of him.  
  
"He's fine now," she started, but it was hardly comforting, "He's sleeping now, but..."  
  
Out of cracked concern, he scooped her out, dipped inside her mind; felt her feelings, thought her thoughts.  
  
Something was wrong, it was worse than they thought. Brad had been having seizures all day, vomiting all day; he was getting sicker and they were skeptical with the radiation. It could be too late.  
  
"So, he's sleeping?" he asked, already knowing the answer, already knowing everything.  
  
She snapped out of the trance and nodded, sympathetic.  
  
He sighed deeply, his hands clenching in his pockets, wrapped hard and painful around his cigarettes and lighter.   
  
"I'll come by tomorrow, then."  
  
"I'm sure he'll be glad to see you," she smiled, watery and limp, "He missed you yesterday."  
  
"Yeah," he nodded and struggled to breathe, to fully breathe, sucking the air painfully in. It burned.  
  
Schuldig walked out, not looking behind.  
  
Outside, he leaned against the building, slowly relaxing his hands. He felt like a cigarette. He felt like a night of hard liquor. He felt like a night of anonymous sex. He felt like hurting someone, anyone; breaking them down. Slowly cutting down their mind until there was nothing left of the person. He felt like setting fire to the city...

But he just leaned against the building instead.  
  
Brad was sick. He tried to pull that in and hold onto it. Brad was sick and could die. Brad could die. Brad who'd slap him on the back of the head when he put his feet on the coffee table. Brad who'd annoy him by telling him what the next commercial would be, would quote it, would piss Schuldig off.   
  
Schuldig smiled, tight and stretched.  
  
They were breaking up, all of them. Farfello was slowly rotting in jail cells waiting his execution, Nagi had all but forgot them, and Brad was dying. Schuldig was...just existing. Living one day at a time.  
  
He knew they weren't a family, they were business associates...but they were _friends goddamn it._ As fucked up and crazy and imperfect as they all were, they were friends and he missed when they all lived together.

He suddenly remembered the time that Brad bought a fake Christmas tree and Schuldig watched Nagi decorate it. Farfello broke the Nativity scene into pieces and glued the wrong pieces together so that baby Jesus had a sheep arm growing out of his head and Joseph had his head switched with Mary's. Schuldig had helped with ideas, glue what to what to make the most fucked up design possible, all put together wrong.  
  
They had been put together wrong, all of them. They had been snatched young, trained, and ordered by Estet to be useful, not functioning, _useful_. They had been broken and all glued wrong, too, but they survived and worked together and joked together and had found something that was close to comfort, something almost good.  
  
" _Fucking Christ,_ " Schuldig muttered, feeling tears he hadn't shed in years surface, "It's all fucked..."  
  
He felt eyes on him suddenly. Instantly, he straightened. His mind hunted out the one watching him.  
  
Full of worry, full of fear, and absolutely full of memories, _sharp memories_ , of Schuldig.  
  
 **Omi Tsukiyono.**  
  
He turned and saw the boy, older now, older than Nagi, but just as lively and innocent as ever. They stared at each other. The boy's eyes were wide in disbelief and worry, they darted quickly around, looking for an ambush that wasn't coming. That never would be coming again.  
  
After a few seconds, Schuldig nodded, like they were old acquaintances, and started walking away.  
  
He used to get pleasure out of tormenting them, hurting people, but now it was old hat. There wasn't any challenge, wasn't any incentive. People were people. People were the same - same patterns, same emotions, same flaws. Same. His ability wasn't fun or new anymore, it was something he kept at the back of his mind. It made him feel different, made him feel misshapen.  
  
He heard footsteps behind him, but kept walking.   
  
"Wait!" He heard the voice call out, Omi.  
  
He stopped, but didn't turn around.  
  
Omi jumped in front of him, his eyes narrowed in anger.  
  
"What do you want? What are you doing here?"  
  
"Nothing," Schuldig replied, flatly, without malice, just honest, and he was still trying to get used to being honest. The words still were heavy on his tongue.  
  
Omi kept his face screwed in apprehension and suspicion, "Yeah, right."  
  
Schuldig shook his head, grabbed his cigarettes out of his pockets, needing something to hold onto, "I want nothing from you, Bombay."  
  
Hearing his code-name, Omi faltered slightly, the ire washing away from his face.  
  
"I was just visiting a friend," Schuldig elucidated, nonchalantly, then noticed the flowers in Omi's hands, "Still working for the shop?"  
  
As if just feeling them, Omi glanced at the flowers, then his face was hard again, " _Why?_ Why do you want to know?"  
  
"You know," Schuldig licked his lips, "Small talk. I haven't seen you in a while."  
  
"We're _enemies_ ," Omi hissed.  
  
"Sure, right," Schuldig answered, flicking his cigarette, looking into the horizon at the sun peacefully setting, "Well, see you later."  
  
Omi watched him walk past, bewildered and confused.  
  
"Aren't you going to say _anything else_?" Omi asked, such disbelief oozing in his voice, "Aren't you going to tease me? Tell me what I'm thinking? Say mean things? _Is that all_?"  
  
"Yeah," he replied, still walking, "That's all."  
  
\----  
  
"Hey," Schuldig said softly as Brad slowly opened his eyes.  
  
"Sorry I was asleep the other day," Brad whispered, "They've just been getting bad, the headaches."  
  
"Is it because of Estet?" Schuldig asked, point-blank, "Did they do something to you?"  
  
"I don't know," Crawford answered, just above the rain spraying against the window, "I don't know what happened."  
  
There was a silence before Brad spoke up, with a smile only in his voice, "No smokes today?"  
  
Slowly shaking his head, the German ruefully smiled, "Been thinking...about quitting."  
  
"That's a laugh," Crawford said without laughing.  
  
"Nagi chewed my ass out about it," he bit the inside of his gum; needed to busy himself, "It was pretty convincing."  
  
"Did he tell you he'd turn you into a human pretzel if you didn't?"  
  
"You bet," Schuldig dryly laughed, but it was fake. Nagi hadn't said that; Nagi cried on the phone when he had heard about Brad. Nagi had told him that he needed Schuldig, that he couldn't have all of Schwartz dead. He was already losing Brad and Farfello. Through tears and a lot of baggage and some screaming, they had talked, really talked. They had opened a lot of memories that both would have liked to forget, they had confessed that they were friends, deeper than friends, but not quite family. Nagi needed him to quit, needed him alive and healthy, so he fucking quit. And it was a _bitch_.  
  
Brad started blinking really hard, rubbing his head, hands twitching.  
  
"You okay?" Schuldig rose slowly, just observing, detached and concerned, "Brad?"  
  
His breathing was strained and struggled. His face grimaced and twisted, sweat starting to glisten on his forehead.  
  
"I'm getting a fucking nurse," Schuldig swore and ran into the hallway, sending out a wavelength, searching for his nurse mentally - click - she was on her way. He made that switch. Jabbing her with what he saw, like she was there. By the time she was in the room, she had memories that she had been in the room the whole time and started working, calling for other nurses.  
  
Schuldig wandered away, not wanting to be in the way, not wanting to leave, but wanting to be anywhere else.  
  
"Fucking great time to ask me to stop smoking, Nagi," he murmured in German, instinctively reaching in his pocket for them.  
  
Eyes on him, like before, suddenly. Sharp memories of him again.  
  
Omi Tsukiyono again.

He turned around to face Bombay, frustrated, lost, angry, and not in the mood, "What the hell do you want?"  
  
Omi blinked a few times, then glanced down, almost shyly, "I'm just working."  
  
"Fine," Schuldig put up his hands, "Whatever. Bye."  
  
"Sch-schululdiku?" Omi slaughtered his name, as if tasting it, but not understanding it.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm...I don't know if this is a good idea, but..." Omi sighed, "Let's go get some coffee in the cafe."  
  
Through all the chaos and worry, the invitation was so left field. Schuldig quirked a brow, "Are you asking me out?"  
  
Omi's whole face and ears flashed red and he snapped, "No! I mean, to talk. Let's go there to talk."  
  
Schuldig felt the tension in his shoulders relax, and he smiled, not a nefarious or calculating smile that Omi was used to seeing, but something genuine. The florist offered forgiveness that he didn't deserve. Somehow, it was funny. It was hilarious.   
  
"Why not?" He finally said. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was started on LJ was back in the old days when everything was still in sepia tones. I aim to finish it.


End file.
